


Better Left Unsaid: The Boys' Night Out

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shoe is on the other foot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Left Unsaid: The Boys' Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Not In Your Wildest Dreams and then in Green Floating Weirdness #21 under the pen name JP Cads.

_"But does the President know_ what _they're doing?"_

 

          Colonel Paul Ironhorse looked up from the latest report the Blackwood Project's communication and computer expert, Norton Drake, had left on his desk, wondering what could have prompted his sergeants to put in an appearance this time of day.

          "Come," he called.

          The office door opened, Derriman and Stavrakos entering, then pulling it securely closed behind them.  The sheepish expressions on their faces tugged a grin out of the colonel's lips.

          "Something you need?" he asked.

          Stavrakos looked to his senior sergeant and Derriman cleared his throat, blushed, and replied in one breath, "Sir, on behalf of the troops – except Coleman – I'm requesting rotating passes."

          Ironhorse's eyebrows climbed a fraction.  "Passes, Sergeant?"

          Derriman's gaze dropped to the hardwood floor.  "Yes, sir… for, uh, stress reduction purposes."

          Eyebrows almost meeting his hairline, Ironhorse fought back a chuckle.  Leaning back in his chair, the officer folded his arms across his chest and asked, "Stress running high, is it?"

          "Yes, sir," was all Derriman said.

          Stavrakos took a step closer to the colonel's desk.  "Sir, the ladies had their day a while back, and, well—"

          "The men feel like they deserve one, too," Ironhorse finished.

          "Yes, sir."

          Paul considered the request.  When he had been with Delta Force, excursions like the one the sergeants were asking for were a regular occurrence.  They helped keep morale up, and they let the troops blow off steam – in a manner of speaking.  The Omegans, removed from such amenities, had actually held out longer than he'd anticipated.  He nodded.

          "All right.  Derriman, work up a rotation and I'll issue the passes.  Twenty-four hours, and I expect every man to take all the proper security and health precautions.  Is that understood?"

          The two men grinned madly.  "Yes, sir!" they chorused.

          "Do you, uh, have a, uh, place in mind?" Derriman asked bashfully.

          Ironhorse nodded, a sly crooked grin spreading across his face.  "I think I know just the place, Sergeant."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It took a concerted effort for the two sergeants to walk back to the Coach House, but they knew running wildly would look inappropriate.  They paused outside the back door, took deep breaths and stepped inside.  The general chatter and bantering that filled the large kitchen instantly fell silent as expectant gazes locked on the pair.

          Derriman drew himself up, cleared his throat and announced, "Mission Petticoat is a go, gentlemen!"

          A raucous cheer shook the walls and rattled the windows.

          "Alex and I will set up a rotation, nine men at a time—"

          A second cheer erupted.

          "Quiet!"  The large kitchen fell quiet.  "The colonel wanted me to remind all of you to take every necessary security and health precautions."  Laughter rolled through the room.  "And _enjoy_ yourselves!"

          "Yeah!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sergeant Norah Coleman leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the men's reactions to their unexpected good fortune.  As soon as Derriman finished his announcement, they settled into anxious conversation, waiting for the roster to be posted.

          An hour later Stavrakos emerged from Derriman's office and thumb-tacked the list to the cork-board in the kitchen.

          She moved aside quickly to avoid the instant stampede.

          "Yes!" Goodson hooted.

          "Motherfu—"  Peterson swallowed the rest of his reply when he caught Coleman's eye.  "Sorry, Sarge," he apologized.  "I gotta wait until Tuesday."

          "Poor baby," she sympathized, shaking her head.  Men.  No, _boys_."  _Can't live with them, can't use 'em for spare parts_ , she thought affectionately.

          "There _is_ a God!" Franklin announced, crossing himself.

          She watched the nine chosen rush off to the showers, knowing that in a few minutes the Coach House would smell like an aftershave test factory.  She grinned. Oh well, they deserved it.

          She, Suzanne and the other three female Omegans already had plans for a weekend stay at a very expensive health club in less than a month.  Three days of nothing but sleeping, eating, sitting in Jacuzzis, getting massages, and generally letting the staff wait on them hand and foot.  Heaven.  And if some of the staff happened to be young, handsome and well-built, well, so much the better!

          She walked over and surveyed the roster.  Twin blond eyebrows plunged to a knot over her nose.  There was a name missing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Yeah?" Derriman asked, looking up from the report he was almost finished typing.

          Norah smiled.  "I see you left your name off the list."

          The older sergeant grinned.  "Well, gal, when you get as old as I am—"

          "Bull.  You're _not_ that old.  I'll take the watch, John.  Go.  Enjoy."

          Derriman shook his head.  "I'm sending Alex.  He needs it more than I do."

          "He's a walking gland.  I really think you should go.  Then we'll have all the senior staff here for the rest of the run."

          He considered her argument, a twinkle springing to life in his eyes.  "You might have something there, Norah."

          "I thought you'd see it that way."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Derriman, Stavrakos and the other lucky eight soldiers who made up the first assault team piled out of the troop helicopter.  Each of the dressed and pressed men looked up at the quaint three-story Victorian mansion that set nestled in garden-like landscaping.  Derriman knew that this was an "official" house, used by high ranking officers, foreign diplomats and a few select others.  And while he had used such establishments in the past, he had never been to one so… stylish.

          The front door opened and a small Latino man dressed in butler's white stepped out, motioning to them to enter.  The soldiers exchanged nervous but excited grins and did just that, checking their Geiger counters and heat sensors as they did.

          Inside, they craned their necks to take in the impressive entryway, complete with stained glass and classic paintings.  Derriman stepped to the fore as the butler led them into a large salon.

          "Thank you, Ruben," a low and sultry voice said, a hint of Caribbean influence rounding the vowels.

          The men turned, their eyes widening and mouths opening at the sight that greeted them – Women, lots of women… Beautiful women who looked like models for Victoria's Secret.  They smiled back.

          "Gentlemen," the voice continued.  "Welcome.  I am Martinique, your hostess.  I understand you are in need of rest and… recreation."

          Derriman forced himself to look away from the angels lounging on the period furniture.  The sight that met him made his knees weak and he heard the collective intake of breaths as the others turned as well.

          She was gorgeous – flawless light brown skin, long black hair and startling green eyes.  The accent was definitely Caribbean, and Derriman wondered what combination of races had been brought together to create such a work of art.

          Ironhorse had sent them there.  Ironhorse was a God.

          "Yes, ma'am," was all he could think to say.

          "Ruben," she called, "bring our guests some treats and drinks."

          "Yes, Mam'zelle," he replied, disappearing.

          "Ma'am," Derriman interrupted.  "I'm very sorry to intrude, but we're under orders to secure the house."

          She nodded.  "I quite understand.  We'll be here with food and drinks when you return."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The Omegans made their sweep, finding nothing but the promises of an extremely pleasant twenty-four hours in the many rooms and alcoves.  They returned to the salon to find a wide range of dishes and drinks waiting for them.

          While they feasted, the island Goddess and the women moved among the soldiers, chatting and dancing after someone turned on the sound system.  Within an hour each of the soldiers had picked a date and disappeared off to the private rooms.

          Derriman was the last, watching Stavrakos go with a beautiful Mediterranean girl.  He smiled shyly at Martinique.

          "You haven't found someone to your liking?" she asked.

          Derriman blushed, his eyes dropping.  "No, ma'am, it's not that."

          She smiled.  "Ah, there is a special lady in your life?"

          He nodded, then shook his head.  "I'd like to make her more a part of my life, but, well, she's younger, and with my line of work…"

          Martinique laughed.  "John, life is too short.  Embrace it.  Tell her how you feel."  She reached out and ran the back of her hand over his weathered cheek.  The accent grew tantalizingly thick, "I don't think she be saying no."

          He grinned.  "I'll take it into consideration."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Marcia," Martinique called.  A pretty auburn-haired woman stepped up.  "Take John and show him to the rose room hot tub."  She smiled at the older sergeant.  "There's no crime in enjoying yourself."

          "No, ma'am."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Twenty hours into the first leave rotation Ironhorse's electronic mail flame war with Norton – concerning the social meaning of cartoons – was interrupted by a phone call.

          "Ironhorse."

          "Colonel, we've got a problem," Derriman stated on the other end.

          "Explain, Sergeant."

          "There was… a raid, sir.  We've been busted."

          " _What?_ "

          "Evidently the local authorities aren't aware the house is off-limits.  We're… in jail."

          "I'll be there as soon as I can, Sergeant."

          "Yes, sir."

          Ironhorse hung up, then punched the button to buzz the Coach House.  "Coleman, meet me in the parking lot with three men in five."

          "Yes, sir," was the crisp reply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse stalked into the Toulumne County Sheriff's Department, Coleman on his heels with RD and automatic weapon at the ready.  The three man guard followed.  Two deputies, who were working at their desks, lunged to their feet, but the soldiers had them disarmed before they had a chance to react.

          "I want to see your superior – now!" Paul barked.

          The two deputies' eyes widened as they scanned the officer's uniform, noting rank (high), ribbons (numerous), and shoulder patches (Special Forces = dangerous!).

          "He's in the back, sir," the older of the two men managed.

          "Call him," Ironhorse commanded.

          The deputy picked up the phone and rang the extension for the jail.  The Sheriff answered on the second ring.  "Sir, I think you better come up here.  There's a Colonel Ironhorse here to see you."  He returned the phone to its cradle and smiled thinly.  "He's on the way, sir."

          Ironhorse nodded.  Coleman motioned for the two men to sit and they complied.  The Sheriff – his name plate read Bobbins – burst through the door, his face flushed.  "What the hell's going on here?"

          "Sheriff… Bobbins," Ironhorse said, stepping in front of the man and halting him in his tracks.  "I want my men released – immediately."

          "They're under arrest for soliciting—"

          "Sheriff.  That _house_ is a government-funded… recreation center.  It is off limits to the civilian authorities.  The Army oversees security for the site, and before long you are going to have some real pissed-off generals, senators, and diplomats in here demanding some answers.  I hope you have some."

          "How the hell was I supposed to know that was an authorized establishment? I was just elected, for Christ's sake!  I saw reports of unusual traffic and thought we'd better check it out."

          Ironhorse's lips disappeared into a thin line of annoyance.  "Your ignorance is not my concern, Sheriff.  I want my men, and I want them _now_.  If you have a problem with that, I have Presidential authority, and I will use it to shut this place down.  Do I make myself clear?"

          "Presidential authority?  Who the hell are you?"

          "That's need to know, mister, and you sure as hell _don't_ need to know.  My men, Sheriff – now."

          "Does the President know _what_ they were doing?"

          A wry smile lifted the colonel's lips.  "Who do you think recommended the place?"

          Bobbins' face flushed, and he nodded to the older deputy.  "Sid, call Harry and have those men released."

          "Whatever you say, Sheriff," the man replied, carrying out the order.

          "What about the women?" the sheriff asked.

          "I suggest you release them, as soon as possible, and apologize.  There are some state politicians who could make life very difficult for you if the ladies should miss any of their, uh, appointments."

          "I see," Bobbins muttered.

          "And I'll be sure that you're provided with a list of sanctioned… recreation centers, Sheriff."

          The two deputies snickered.

          The sheriff's jaw twitched.  "Goddamn Sanike," he growled.  "I beat him in that election fair and square, and I just know he burned that classified locations list."

          The door burst open and the Omegans filed out, looking decidedly embarrassed.

          "Come on, you worthless bunch of perverted jailbirds!" Coleman snapped.  "Fall in and follow me!"

          Ironhorse watched them go, trying hard not to smile.  Derriman was the last, escorting Martinique into the room.  She smiled when she saw Paul and moved to slip her arm into his.

          "Colonel, it's been far too long."

          "I have to agree," he said, then nodded to the sheriff.  "My men will be conducting… exercises at Ms. Martinique's home over the next nine days.  I trust they will _not_ be interrupted again."

          "Yes, sir, Colonel."

          Ironhorse smiled at Derriman.  "Well, Sergeant, I'd say it's time to saddle up."

          The older man grinned.  "Yes, sir!"


End file.
